Coming Clean
by netherfield
Summary: LL. Intimacy and Admitting Stuff... sometimes it is easy, sometimes it isn't. Complete.
1. Real

It had begun, her tears, with the warm washcloth. It was silly perhaps, and in retrospect so completely 'of' him, this gesture. This intimate wonderful gesture, that her eyes had welled up. She could not remember ever having felt so... cared for. And thus, the force of her own foolishness hit her hard, which had only empowered her tears further. And he, poor guy, could only blink at this in concern and ask if she was okay.

It had started with the movie as planned. And became something they did cautiously and politely (and on occasion, teasingly) on a weekly basis for two months. Each becoming more sure of themselves, yet still unsure, or unwilling to believe that the other was still around and happy to be so. It gradually became easier to clasp hands when they walked, or to slip an arm around a waist or shoulder. And the kisses at evening's end became more heated, even exponentially so.

Until this night, this first night of feeling fall's crackle in the air (the tourists would start plowing through town any day now,) when they'd leaned into one another at her door, and instead of saying goodnight, or joking about what she would eat at the diner in the morning, she had clasped his hand wordlessly and led him through her door.

And it wasn't a romance novel sort of thing, or even a joke-filled hot, hot young thing up against a wall. It was, of all things, something tender. They'd guided each other and met each other's eyes and took their time, and bumped noses too. He didn't like the playful bites she liked to give, but had a stamina she hadn't experienced before. Neither were shy about what they wanted to experience or give. This way they began to learn one another.

And, as they lay in the dark room later that night --or was it early morning?-- breathing and thinking, and smiling, though quiet, he got up and slipped into the bathroom. Something else they were being surprisingly adult about, she thought in wonder. Because sex was one thing, but admitting in intimate situations that one had to pee was another.

When he returned, he did not lay down at her side as she expected, but knelt between her knees instead and, after gently nudging them apart, lay a warm wet cloth against her netherlips and tenderly cleaned the stickiness away.

Of all the ways they had tasted and experienced one another throughout the evening, and wonderful and warm as that had been, these acts could not begin to approach the intimacy and, _Oh God, love? _of this simple gesture. No man had ever tended to her in this way before.

And so, the tears.

When he noticed, he pulled back instantly. She tried to smile reassuringly as she was quite certain she'd lost the power of speech, but saw that he still felt he had made an error in this oh-so-delicate situation. So she sat up quickly and pushed him down, taking the cloth from him as she did so and, returned the gesture.

When she had finished, she sat back on her heels and looked down at him. He looked back with that rare warmth in his eyes and so caught up in this was she, that she didn't even bother to blush.

"What are we doing?" she asked with a quirky smile.

"Hmmm... Lot's of potential for me to really say the wrong thing here, so perhaps you could elaborate?" he returned the smile.

She swiped her hands at her eyes and flicked them away thoughtfully for a moment before looking down at him again.

"You and I... We aren't so young anymore..." she began, biting her lip, "And I want this to be real, Luke. This thing between us. Not just dating. Not just a fling or an affair... but..."

"Real?" he supplied.

She nodded and bit her lip again in uncertainty, waiting.

"I want nothing more," he returned simply.

She expelled a deep breath and lay down beside him, cuddling close.

"That means you have to stay the night," she said in relief and then yawned big, (she'd figure out what it all meant tomorrow) before tossing the now cool cloth over her shoulder and onto the floor.

He grinned large in the dark and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He was too overcome with it all to sleep yet. His mind churning and whirling through what had just been done and said.

He almost laughed out loud in delight then, when he felt her mouth drop slightly open against his chest to allow the cutest little snore he'd ever heard (spread that around and you're dead, by the way) to erupt into quiet night.

And sooner than he'd have thought possible, he was asleep too.


	2. Knowledge

It had become routine by now. But neither had any concern that the other might be bored.

It wasn't boring. It was routine. And there was this great comfort and well, peace, that each got from that.

Not that they had discussed this. Perhaps neither was really aware of it.

Because though it's an incredible thing to come to the point in one's life where the restlessness has evaporated, where the fear has slipped away and in its place a certain... knowledge... has taken hold... That, of course, isn't really something one thinks about deeply, if at all, at the time.

This is merely what we come to label Happy in our lives. This knowledge of one another (and so ourselves) creates the happiness.

For Luke and Lorelai there was the knowing that things were the same: Coffee, movies, tourists, work.

There was knowing that they were different: The 'Hey! the smiles really mean what I think they do!'; And, that later in the evening, they could stroke one another and kiss or... not: A thrill came with the former, a feeling of calm with the latter... in the simple holding.

And also there was the talking... _really_ talking: Of course a great deal of knowledge comes with that..

There was also the incredulity of finally knowing that someone is there just for you. Like on Halloween night when Luke well knew that Lorelai wanted him at The Dragonfly party, but having given Lane the night off for a gig, he'd be swamped when the high school kids came over after their dance, (but before they began wreaking havoc on the town)....

But Lorelai left her party early, walking through the diner door as if it were the most normal thing in the world, "Sookie and Michel can deal," she shrugged as she pulled on an apron and made with the 'diner talk'. He hadn't bothered to bark at her (it was too busy) or really acknowledge, even to himself, that he had this now... This someone for him. He was just happy to have her there during the rush, happy to have her nearby while they silently cleaned and closed up together, and very happy later to feel her breasts pressed warmly against his back, as they lay spooned around one another listening to the wind outside. See: Knowledge equals happy.

Most of the time.

Sometimes though the old adage that things have to be learned the hard way is also unfortunately true. And that is seldom a happy thing. But that's the way it can go too.

She had begun to feel something, around that Halloween night. Not sure when. Something different. It had edged up on her and was dogging her now. Looking at Luke and feeling... Something Else.

But what?

The summer had been full of opposites: Up, up , up with Luke, then down, down, down with Rory and her parents. And she'd tried to surf through it. She really had. She had a fleeting image now, as she reflected on this, of herself in a Frankie and Annette movie with a bouffant standing on a surfboard.

So, again, who knows when this shift began, or how—this feeling something else. But she frowned now as she glanced over at Luke and tried to figure it out.

She wanted something. But what was it? Waiting for things and the patience to do so with grace had never been her strong suit. That was Rory's gift.

She sighed and looked at Luke again.

He was sitting at the desk (they were in his apartment this evening), stubbornly pulling his Bob Cratchit routine whereby he sat down monthly to balance his books. The thing was, his books were _actual _books though he did cop to the necessity of an adding machine (an antique Mrs. Kim could sell to some out-of-reality Manhattan collector for a mint). He sat on the desk's matching hard wooden chair and worked everything out with a Bic in hand. Always had. Always would.

She'd begged him to let her teach him how to cut this chore down to a third of the time and effort by using a computer. But he, suspicious creature that he was, knew this was only part of the master plot the world had to change things on him. And not in a good way. It would just be like the extra phone line he had downstairs for the fax machine he would never get: Unnecessary.

But she wasn't thinking about all this right now. Truth was, she knew that changing him wasn't what she wanted to do (although trying was sometimes fun, just to see him steam.)

What was bothering her now, as she lounged on his sofa with her laptop, was how she was feeling.

She was feeling different. Antsy and waiting-ish. And not at all peaceful or cozy as she had been so consistently feeling in the recent weeks since the fall had begun.

She furrowed her brow.

It was like waiting for the first snow and it was driving her nuts because it wasn't coming.

But that didn't make any sense because there wasn't a proverbial snowball's chance in hell that it was going to snow soon. It had been warmish today. So, rain maybe, but not snow.

So. What was it then?

She snapped her laptop shut and got restlessly to her feet and wondered to the window and looked down into the square. Nothing worth seeing there. Then she about-faced and went to the kitchen counter and poured herself a cup of the coffee Luke had made for her and frowned again.

And then Luke started humming.

She snapped her head to the left and watched him awhile as he did this. Clearly he had no idea that he was doing it. Because, if he were aware, he'd never hum in front of her because, well, what better mocking material was there? Plus, he sort of sucked at it. It was tuneless and seemed to just be something he did as he balanced the books. Or, when he forgets I'm here, she thought crankily.

She watched him a bit longer, still with the gnawing feeling that something was different in the way she felt while he obliviously chewed the pen end now (a bit of blue ink on his lip as he double-checked a column of numbers in his ledger).

Lorelai sighed. Loudly.

She set her cup down on the counter and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. His humming raising her level of irritation from 'Just trying to figure it out' to 'What the hell am I doing?' But when she looked over at Luke, he was looking up at her, with a small blue-lipped smile.

"I'm finished. It all balanced, and I actually made more than two bucks this month," he said in satisfaction.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter.

"Well, good," she said without any enthusiasm.

He stood up and walked directly to her.

"You okay?" he asked gently as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

She looked up at him and melted a little. What was wrong with her anyway? He was wonderful. And I'm crazy, she thought.

She smiled and licked her thumb a bit, then lifted it to rub against the corner of his mouth. When she pulled it away, she showed him the ink now smudged there and they both chuckled a little.

But the next morning when Lorelai awoke in Luke's small bed, the previous evening's feeling of incompletion washed over her again as she turned to see him in the kitchen making her coffee.

When he turned to bring her a mug, she sat up in the bed and took it gratefully.

"Thank you," she breathed into the sip.

"Sure," he smiled and sat on the bed facing her and took a sip of his own tea.

"Hey Luke," she began to distract herself from whatever she was feeling, "What do you say we get you a new bed—a _bigger_ bed sometime soon?" she asked knowing full well what his answer would be.

"Okay," he said.

"What?" she asked in surprise. "Did you just agree to getting a new bed?"

He shrugged, "It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" she raised her brows dramatically, "But you hate change. You hate new stuff. You are your own Historical Preservation Society."

"Yeah, well, things change."

"Okay," she said in wonder.

"Things are different now," he said simply. "If you want a new bed. I'll get one. That's what you do for the person you love I guess, change or not," he added and got up to walk to the sink to rinse out his now empty tea mug. "It makes sense, anyway. The bed is too small for both of us... So, I've got to head down stairs now," he went on when he turned back to her, "I gotta meet the doughnut guy 'cause someone I know will have a fit if I don't get extra sprinkled... Hey! What's going on?!" he demanded into her hair after she launched herself out of bed and at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.. "I never saw you move this fast in the morning before... Lorelai, I'm only going downstairs..." he laughed when she squeezed even tighter.

"I love you too," she said into his shoulder as the relief washed through her.

"Good to know," he smiled.


	3. Cost

So, neither one had felt this shell-shocked since...

The Sockman?

"....how I found out your daughter has been dating my son for the past six months..." or maybe: "Dean just came by to borrow something." –?

Well, in awhile anyway.

Yeah, there is far too much drama in our lives. Not at all healthy, they decided on the drive home.

And, even though Lorelai had assured Luke that shock, followed by fury, followed by denial (to get through the next week, of course) was a perfectly normal sequence of feelings to have after spending any amount of time with her parents... ('Luke, I don't know why you're surprised, I've been coming in and complaining to you about them for years.' 'Yeah well, I guess maybe I should have actually listened once or twice. Nope, even if I had, it could not have prepared me adequately for this,' he decided. 'Probably not,' she agreed.)

Friday night dinner. Their first, and Luke now wished to God, the last. Lorelai told him she'd been wishing that for years now too but she'd still had to keep going, dammit.

"And Rory was no help at all," he complained.

"No, she wasn't," agreed Lorelai sadly. She couldn't deny the wisdom of her child in this matter—staying out of the line of fire that is.

"I thought she'd be a buffer, or at least a distraction," he went on.

"Yeah, we haven't had a lot of luck with that approach," frowned Lorelai.

Home now, she grabbed a couple of beers out of her 'frig, handed one to Luke and took a deep swig of her's, while he loosened his tie with his free hand, then took a drink of his own.

The quiet kitchen was quiet—something very welcome right now.

"How do you think they found out?" he finally asked.

Lorelai shrugged and looked away. There was no telling with them, she thought as she walked into the darkened living room and flopped on the couch, releasing her feet from stiletto hell at the same time.

He flopped as well and side by side they stared into the empty fireplace and drank beer.

"Crap."

"Yep."

And it didn't really matter who said which.

For his part, Luke's brain was still spinning with it all: A maid in _a uniform _for crap's sake. And that had only been the beginning.

"I still don't understand how they found out," he repeated.

Lorelai sighed. "I don't know, Luke. The point is, they did. My dad was probably snooping around my affairs while he was settling my grandmother's estate. He knows everyone."

"But that's illegal. There are privacy laws in this state!"

And then Lorelai got a cold clutch of recognition in her belly.

"It was Jason," she said quietly as she continued to stare into the fireplace. (There was quite a nice-sized cobweb forming in there.)

"Jason? How?"

"That night at the Inn run-through, he must have heard you say you were an investor. Somehow that information got back to Richard and Emily."

"But... Why? I thought they were on the outs?" said Luke in confusion, "Did he do it on purpose?"

Lorelai closed her eyes, "It doesn't matter, Luke. They know now. They know I went to you when I needed money, instead of them. They know I didn't want their help (yet again) and, worst of all, they know that I _needed help_.... needed it badly."

Luke looked over at her. A tear was sliding down her cheek.

"Oh hey," he said, and leaned forward to set his beer bottle on the table, so that he could wrap his arms around her. "Don't do that. It doesn't matter," he said softly and rubbed her back gently.

Lorelai stiffened and pulled away from him to look him in the eye.

"It does, Luke. It does matter."

"Lorelai, it's just money," he said.

Her eyes flashed at that. "It's not just the money," she said and stood up. She crossed to the mantle and set her bottle there, as she gazed down into the still-empty, still-cob-webby fireplace. She shivered then, crossed her arms around herself, and turned back to him.

"You don't understand," she told him.

"I do. I understand that you don't want to depend on anyone for help, especially when it comes to money. I don't know why, but there it is," he replied, looking up at her across the dark room.

"Luke, money is just... to them, it's... Gah! You'll never get it," she cried in exasperation.

He stood up and crossed toward her, his hands in his pockets.

"Try me."

She sighed and looked down.

"It's how they control everything, Luke. And everyone. And I had to get away from that. I had to do it on my own. It just about killed me to ask for their help for Rory's school."

"You paid that back."

"Yes, but... _I had to ask_," she said looking up at him again, willing him to understand.

He looked at her and seemed to get it. Partly anyway. After this evening, he could well understand her doing anything to not be beholden to the Gilmores.

"Okay," he said gently.

She stepped over to him and smiled thinly, "Thank you."

They wrapped their arms around each other then, and she lay her head on his chest and closed her eyes. He smelled good.

After a moment, a thought forming in his mind came to the surface.

"You know, why don't we just forget the loan-slash-investment?" he asked her, thinking aloud.

She looked up at him, "No way, Luke," she shook her head.

"Why not?" he asked.

She pulled away from him, "What do you mean, 'why not?' It's a huge amount of money, that's 'why not'!"

"Look, I'm trying to do a nice thing here, Lorelai, really. You don't need this debt hanging over your head right now, and I can afford it. What does it matter?"

"It matters!" she said stubbornly.

"But we're together now," he tried reasonably, "What if we move in together or something; Are we gonna label our food in the refrigerator? Itemize the phone bill? I don't want to live that way. Let's just forget the money."

Lorelai bit her lip and took a deep breath.

"Luke, I just don't think it's a good idea for us to co-mingle..."

"Co-mingle what?"

"Our money!"

"But what if, like I said, we're living together... or something...?" he asked quietly.

"I'd still want to pay you back for a business loan," she insisted.

"Fine. I don't want to argue with you about it," he sighed and ran his hand over his face. What was he doing, anyway?

They both looked down then and wordlessly walked over to the couch and flopped again.

After a moment she looked over at him. He looked tired and she felt instantly sorry about the whole thing.

"How are your feet feeling tonight?" she asked sympathetically.

"They're fine," he grumped. He should be able to give her the money if he wanted to, he inwardly pouted.

"Ummhmm," she said knowingly and reached down to untie his laces. She just wasn't going to let the Emily and Richard hour-of-fun get to her right now. She would just will it away. There were, after all, better things here now. And Emily and Richard would still be there next week, pissed about something else....

And here was Luke. Right where he belonged.

"Lorelai, you don't have to," he made a stab at protesting as she continued undoing his shoes—one had to make the effort after all.

She just smiled and pulled his feet up into her lap, gently pushing his shoulder down onto the couch at the same time. He leaned back, put an arm up over his head and watched her as had become their habit.

She, as a matter of convenience for just this situation, had learned to store a bottle of lotion (non-fruity smelling) in the side-table drawer. She reached over and pulled it out now after peeling off his socks.

She warmed the lotion in her hands and watched with a little laugh as Luke visibly relaxed merely in anticipation. When her hands were warm enough, she began working his feet, gently pulling and rubbing the tired tendons and muscles. Pushing her thumb into the knots, stroking and kneading his toes, sliding up and down his achilles tendon.

Luke moaned and sighed as her hands slipped and slithered over his aching feet.

Lorelai shook her head and clucked at him, "Oh honey, tomorrow we are going to get you some better shoes. You cannot stand in the diner all day in those old ones anymore... Your poor feet."

"I don't need new shoes," he said mostly for form's sake.

"Yes, you do," she insisted as she continued her ministrations.

He smiled at her. Almost. "You just want an excuse to GQ me up," he smirked.

She smiled, "You got me there, cowboy."

They continued like this in silence for awhile. He watching her, delighting in the sensations of flesh against flesh. She focusing on her task, letting go of the Richard and Emily stress with each breath she took.

"I'm going to clean out that fireplace tomorrow, so we can have a fire," he said after awhile, "Now that the leaves have turned, it's cold."

"That would be nice," she agreed. "You know what would look great next to that fireplace?" she added after a quiet moment.

"What?" he asked, getting drowsy now, her hands still sliding and smoothing away...

"That beautiful Arts and Crafts clock of your father's," she said quietly, and reached to warm more lotion in her hands.

He snapped his eyes open at that and looked at her.

Eyes down, Lorelai worked her hands up his left calf a little.

"Do you want me to give you the clock?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"No," she said as she switched to his other calf. "I just thought you could bring it with you."

"Bring it with me?" he repeated and then swallowed, hard.

She lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Yeah. I know it means a lot to you. And I know this house might be too... girly... for you, the way it is... You know, what with no singing 'Be Happy' bass and all, but there's a perfect place for that clock right over there," she explained as she slid her hands back down to work on the knot in the arch of his right foot.

"Lorelai...?"

"Closet space will be a problem," she went on as an afterthought.

He took a deep breath, "Well, I can build a closet. I could expand the bathroom too, if you like."

"Do you think we'll need to?" she asked, and looked him in the eye.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "it'll make things easier when we're getting ready for work in the mornings."

She nodded, considering that. "Hey," she began brightly, "Could we put a coffee machine next to the bed?"

He chuckled, "No."

"All right," she gave in, and returned to the knot in his arch.

Luke smiled and watched her again, feeling peaceful and, well, _happy_, he guessed and then...

_Oh, man..._

He moaned aloud.

"Did I strike a nerve?" she asked innocently.

He looked at her darkly, "I told you about that spot," he shook his finger at her naughtiness.

"Yes, you did," she breathed in the most sultry tone she could summon, "I believe you said that this nerve," she squeezed it again and smiled at his responding groan, "leads directly to certain... other..." another squeeze and moan, "nerve centers in your body.... that it's almost an electrical kind of feeling..."

"Yes, it is," he said and sat up and placed his hands on her upper arms, his eyes intent.

"Feet can be very sensitive," she said, returning his gaze.

"Yes, they can be," he agreed.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" she asked.

Wordlessly, they climbed the stairs, arms around one another, smiling. At the bedroom door though, he paused and pulled on her hand. She turned to look up at him.

"Hey, did I just volunteer to clean the chimney, build a closet, and extend the bathroom?" he asked.

She nodded merrily, "But you got a foot rub and the perfect place for your clock in return... among other things."

He considered that for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her and took a deep breath into her hair.

"Totally worth it," he sighed out.


	4. Morning

"I do not snore!"

"I'm going out to buy you those little nose tapes now," he assured her.

"Hey! Is that nice?"

"Now I understand why Rory took the downstairs bedroom. Milk, please."

"Who opened this morning? Here, we're almost out. I'll get more after work."

"Lane. No, I'll get it. You'll forget."

"I'm only with you for the antique clock, you know."

"I'll remember that."

"Oh crap, it's seven thirty. Should I drop you, or are you going to walk?"

"Drop me. Here."

"What are you doing?"

"It looks like snow and, Newsflash: A scarf is not just a fashion accessory, it's supposed to keep you warm."

"Blasphemy!"

"Wrap it around your neck."

"I know how to wear a scarf, Luke."

"Yeah, but you don't. I really don't need you to catch a cold."

"Aw, sweet, you care about me."

"All self preservation. Snoring only gets worse when you're sick."

"Oh man, you are so walking to work," she pulled the door closed behind them.


	5. Cold

You can irritate the hell out of one another, fight about the fact that she would only pay for the groceries with her own money instead of theirs, or that he had dyed her favorite white blouse pink. There was the fact that he ran the vacuum on occasion at five in the morning before he went to work, or that she was procrastinating about getting new tires put on the jeep.

And there was the occasional rant about customers at day's end, which she'd tried to listen attentively to in the beginning, even offer helpful suggestions for, until the epiphany dawned that he was merely venting. So, she let it drift into background noise until he was spent and himself again, while she worked on a quilt or went over invoices.

Or his maddening certainty that when the snow began to fall (which, without fail, would begin two hours before he had to wake up for work), she would slide her hand around him and stroke and grasp until he was as wide awake as she. And he'd look up into her bright eyes then and curse the hour but marvel at the woman and wonder how-the-fuck he got so lucky.

And they'd ride the contractions and squeeze to prolong them until she lay atop him breathing hard and laughing, but refusing to release him. And then he'd be hard and hungry for her again.

And so it went.

There comes a point where, convention or no, one realizes that this is it. And it isn't cinematic or even at the forefront of one's consciousness. It's just where it should be, snug, tucked up and warm inside. And though some might find this a kind of taking-it-for-granted, Luke and Lorelai had both well-reached the point in their lives where so much had already been lost as to make this impossible.

It was there and it was staying there. Even when it got a good shaking.

So Luke was smiling as he wiped down tables one frosty late November morning, despite the fact that he'd been awake since three, despite the fact that a pipe had burst in the kitchen at the house the day before. He was just smiling. He wasn't thinking: I'm smiling because of Lorelai. I'm smiling because of 'us'. All he knew was that wiping tables, draining grease traps, and dealing with order changes just hadn't been that big a deal today. And that was nice.

And then he looked up and saw Lorelai's jeep being towed through the square. Adrenalin surging, jaw clenching and cold, he ran outside. When he got to Gypsy's Garage, she and Frank were unhooking the tow chain. And his stomach flipped when he saw an indentation in the driver's door.

"Where's Lorelai?" he demanded. They didn't know. Just gotten a message on the machine to collect the jeep out of a snowbank on the old highway to the Inn.

Back at the diner Luke called the Inn: No, she hadn't arrived.

Tried her cell: Got a voice message.

Then called the house and got the machine. Shit.

He got in the truck then and headed northward.

And, of course, she was fine. Pissed, embarrassed, sure, but fine. They'd missed each other with the phone calls. Her cell phone had died after she'd called the garage. It didn't occur to her that he'd see the jeep and be frightened.

He blustered and yelled at her, as was his right, and she listened tearfully, nodding. Yes, she should have done something about the tires, but black ice was black ice. And this was Connecticut. And she was fine.

He stared at her then as they stood in the kitchen.

"Christ, Lorelai..." he choked out, his anger gone now.

"I know, I know," she soothed.

And they clung to one another then, trying to get warm again, inside and out, trying to reestablish what had shivered and almost been broken between them.


	6. Gift

He never got sick. Except when he did.

And though, by day three, he was much improved there was still no way he was up to going to the party (Thank God. I mean if you gotta be sick...)

"It's psychosomatic," Lorelai assured Rory while they were downstairs in the kitchen heating cans of soup. "Usually, it's just the late Friday afternoon colon clench before we go to dinner, but this being Christmas eve, he had to do something special and get really sick so he could actually get out of going."

"Mom, he didn't get flu on purpose!" laughed Rory.

"Oh, I know," she assured her. "I'm just jealous. I wish I had that kind of mind power—to actually lure germs to me to get out of an Emily and Richard event. She always knows when I'm lying," she added with a sigh.

But Luke knew she wasn't complaining. Not really. He had, of course, urged her to go and get her apple tarts with Rory, but Lorelai had insisted on staying home with him. He was glad. Yes, the inept ministrations of both Gilmore women while he'd been ill had been pretty annoying, but that didn't mean he didn't still want them there. Sheesh, any idiot could see that.

So, they'd bundled Rory off with gifts and an overnight bag (the weather forecast dicey) and settled in to watch _Christmas in Connecticut _while the enormous tree in the corner glowed prettily. And Luke dozed while Lorelai dipped repeatedly into the enormous box of cookies Sookie had sent over, until she shook his shoulder gently.

"Wakey, wakey," she smiled into his sleepy blinking face. "I know a little boy who had better get up to bed or Santa won't come."

He scrubbed at his eyes and then suddenly was awake.

Crap.

Santa... Presents.

It's not that he didn't have any for Lorelai, or Rory either for that matter. It's just that, he didn't.

And he'd had a plan. An actual shopping plan, dammit.

He had been clenching and unclenching his jaw for weeks with the dread of it. Knowing that he'd have to bite the bullet and go to the frickin' mall. He'd delayed as long as he could, of course, (the excuse being that if he wracked his brain and came up with concrete ideas for gifts, it could shorten his trip considerably—less aimless wandering around that way) still, the inevitable loomed large (no ideas forthcoming,) Until, on the very day he'd planned to go, he'd tossed his cookies after breakfast then spiked a fever.

And, of course, that caused him to promptly forget all about the gift-giving purgatory he'd narrowly scraped out of.

Maybe it _was _psychosomatic, he reflected then as he and Lorelai climbed up to their room.

But, he'd been sick, _right?_ Really sick. Ah geez, no way that was gonna fly.

He climbed into bed then and watched Lorelai putter around the room. She turned the radio to the Stars' Hollow Christmas station (_On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me._..) Squat, zilch, and nada, he thought guiltily.

_What was he going to do?_ Christmas was big, right? Not that he knew from actual experience. He'd done nothing to speak of for Christmas, other than take that single solitary day off, for far more years than he'd participated in anything as a child. His mother had made a big deal, of course, but he hadn't really thought of it as something beyond cynical commercial opportunity since.

He sighed heavily, feeling even crappier, as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight.

For weeks Lorelai had been getting ready. Making him lug in a big tree, finishing a quilt for Davey, shopping on the computer, hosting parties, attending parties—dragging him along, dressing him up. She'd even talked him into a plain evergreen wreath for the diner door. She'd gabbed and glowed like a kid. After all; Christmas was coming.

He sighed again. She turned from the dresser to look over at him in concern.

"Are you feeling bad again? Do you want some Tylenol?" she asked.

"No," he clipped, more harshly than he intended.

"Tea?"

"No."

"How about some soup? You had hardly any earlier..."

"Lorelai, I don't want anything!" he snapped.

"Okay," she accepted softy.

He looked up at her, instantly contrite.

"What is it?" she asked in genuine curiosity.

"You should have gone to the party," he evaded.

She climbed up on the bed and sat facing him.

"I didn't want to go to the party, Luke. I wanted to be with you."

"Not much of a Christmas," he grumbled.

"Are you kidding?" she asked in surprise, "Barbara Stanwyck, fudge, and you, then tomorrow Rory too? It's perfect."

He looked at her a moment.

And then, of course, confessed all. How could he not? There she was sexy and happy and full of the flippin' Christmas spirit, and he was a jerk, an idiot. An idiot with no gifts. And he'd been too tired to even make coffee for three days. And... he'd had a plan, dammit! A shopping plan. And, what-the-hell did she want any way? He didn't know how to give presents. He sucked at giving presents. Especially to women. Not that he'd given that many presents to women, or men for that matter, but you know what I mean. And why did Christmas have to be such a big deal, anyway? No, nevermind. He knew it was a big deal to her. So he should have done something but, yeah, he screwed up. And was sorry. And he'd go right out and get her something as soon as he could. He'd brave the post-Christmas mall hell to do it. Or, she could have the clock. His father's clock. She loved that clock, didn't she? There you go! Should have thought of that before. It's officially yours now, Lorelai, I'm giving you my father's clock...

And she listened to all this with increasingly widening eyes, her mouth even dropping a little at the last, until he was finished...

When, after a beat, she laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed.

By way of return, after catching a post-rant breath, he flushed and grew angry. _What was she laughing at?_

Lorelai wiped a tear out of her eye and collected herself.

"Luke..." she tried to gain eye contact.

He firmly wouldn't allow it and crossed his arms over his chest for good measure.

"Luke, look at me." _Ah hell, he did screw up. _He looked at her.

She giggled at little at that. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, "It was just... funny."

"Well, glad I'm so damn entertaining."

"Oh, don't do that," she coaxed. "Luke," she went on, "It doesn't matter. I don't need a gift. I know you hate shopping," she comforted "besides, you do so much for me, for us... coffee, closets, entertainment..." and she laughed again.

He winced inwardly. She would be good about it like that. He should have known.

"Lorelai, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to spoil your Christmas. Getting sick. No gift."

She smiled at him.

"Hmmm... I think I know a way you can make it up to me..."

His eyes widened then as she leaned in and kissed his forehead gently.

"Lorelai..."

"Shhh..." she whispered and nuzzled his ear.

He closed his eyes then as she kissed tenderly down his neck, down his chest and tugged playfully at the drawstring of his pants with her teeth.. She looked up at him then, "Luke, it's fine," she told him quietly, then smiled at his moan when she released him. "Relax and watch," she whispered huskily.

And so he opened his eyes and did. He watched her. And God, here they were, and there she was with her soft lips and warm tongue and wet finger rubbing spot on the magic perineal bundle of nerves, until he was moaning her name and bucking and clutching at her shoulders...

And when he could breathe and focus again, he looked up to see her sitting back on her heels and grinning.

"Pretty proud of yourself, are you?" he smiled.

"Don't you think I should be?" she returned.

"God yes," he sighed.

They looked at one another a moment.

"Lorelai..." he began.

"Let's get married," she interrupted.

"What?"

"You heard me," she told him.

"Yes, I heard you, but..."

"Don't you want to marry me?" she demanded, with her hands on her hips.

"Of course I do. I just.. Shouldn't there be a proposal?" he swallowed "Or something."

"I think that's what I just did," she laughed, "And if I waited for you to propose... Well, let's put it this way: It took you ten years to ask me out," she reminded him.

"Oh. Right."

They sat a moment.

"Luke?"

"What?'

"Say something!"

"Um well..." he sat up straighter, "I always assumed... I mean for awhile now, that you and I would... do that..."

"Get married?" she prompted

"Yes. I just wasn't expecting..."

Lorelai laughed a little nervously, "Yeah well, I had to wait until you were sick, giftless and post-  
orgasmic to ask. Less blood in the brain, you know. Your weakened defenses only aid my cause."

"Lorelai," he leaned into her and caught her arms in his hands, "I want to marry you more than anything. In my heart... I don't know how to say this right... But, in my heart, we're already married, you know?" he looked at her intently, hoping she would understand.

She did.

"Good. Me too. But, I want to do it for real now too," she told him earnestly.

"Well, me too," he smiled and she smiled back and both, well both knew what they meant. What they wanted. Always had, really. But it was nice... No, it was great to have it said.

And later, as they lay quietly together after his father's clock downstairs had struck the Christmas hour, he asked, "You didn't get me _a lot _of stuff did you?"

She laughed, "Of course I did."

"Oh, man."

"Don't worry, you can make it up to me in engagement ring."

He sighed at that, until suddenly struck by another thought, "Oh, crap! Rory! She's coming home tomorrow and I didn't get her anything either."

"Yes, you did," Lorelai told him and yawned big.

"No, I didn't," he insisted, panicking again.

"_Yes_, you did. You got her three lovely step-fatherly gifts." Luke swallowed at that, his head spinning a little. "Luke," she interrupted his turmoil, "is it snowing yet?"

He turned mechanically to look out the window, "Not yet," he managed.

"Good. I'm too tired for anymore sex tonight. Goodnight. Merry Christmas, and I love you," she yawned again and in a moment, was asleep.

And he could only look down at her in wonder.


	7. Drive

"You know, it's not really clear to me. Does TJ _only_ eat chilli and drink beer?"

"Seems like it."

"Poor Liz."

"Poor Jess."

"Yeah, I have to say, I was actually having some twangs of pity for the guy."

"I better turn up the heater."

"Why?"

"Hell just got awful cold."

"Shut up. I'm not that heartless. And he was awful to Rory, remember. Among others."

"Yes, he was."

"It's just that, Wow."

"Yep."

"It's not everyday you turn twenty-one and find out that you're going to be a big brother."

"No, it's not."

"Quite the birthday gift."

"Quite the birthday party. Thank you for coming with me."

"Well, seeing Jess deal with the Renaissance Balloon Animal Guy was totally worth it. Chilli and all. Besides, they're going to be my family too, aren't they?"

"Yes they are, unless you're gonna back out on me."

"Back out on you? _I'm_ the one who proposed!"

"Only because you beat me to it, and I was sick."

"That's your story."

"And I'm sticking to it."

"Commendable though. What they're doing."

"I have to agree with you there."

"I mean to go all the way to China to adopt babies. Wow."

"It seems to be what they want."

"Yes, it does. You don't think that maybe they're pushing it a little, though?—time-wise, I mean? I mean, they just got married last Spring. Not that I'm an expert on the order of these things."

"According to Liz, when you're ready to do this, you just are."

"Hmmm..."

"I think I could... imagine it, though. I mean, think about it... about being ready, that is. And wanting it."

"It?"

"Well.. Them."

"_Them_?!"

"Well, a him or a... her."

"Aw, you're cute. Hey, pull through there, I want a milkshake!"

"Lorelai, why should I drive through a fast-food place this late? I can just make you one when we get home."

"But I want one now and they will put cookie dough in it."

"_Raw_ cookie dough in a _milkshake_?!"

"Honey, I've got to get you out more. Pull through now, please."

"Fine, but please take off the balloon crown before I get to the window."

"Absolutely not. I look like a princess."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Yum. Delicious."

"Disgusting."

"Oh my friend, this is not disgusting. This is no where near disgusting. Disgusting is what I ate when I was expecting Rory."

"Something to look forward to."

"I'm a lot older now, though."

"You're not old."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Oh, think of what you'll have to feed me!"

"We'll negotiate on that: There will be no caffeine."

"I hate being older and wiser."

"No comment."

"Ha.ha. Here, have a sip."

"No."

"You know you want to..."

"I really don't."

"You'll just taste it on my cold, moist lips later."

"You think so?"

"That is the first step."


	8. Gesture

There comes a point in winter, even for Lorelai, when it just isn't fun anymore. When the waiting for the first fresh snow and the holidays are only cooling memories, replaced by the grim realities of leave taking, and salted sidewalks. This turn about in mood coincided, for the second year in a row now, with Rory's return to school after her winter break.

And though she and Luke were happy and well and settled, and even still passionate, she could never remain sanguine when it came to saying goodbye to her child. Who wasn't really a child anymore.

But late Sunday afternoon, delay not longer possible, Mother said goodbye to daughter and watched her drive off, then later tossed and turned through a long fretful night. She could hold on as tightly as possible, white-knuckled and tense, but the end result was always the same: Daughters grew up and left. And though perhaps Rory thought and felt more than most about leaving her mother behind, she would go.

And Luke, a usual, had the early shift at the diner the next morning as she sniffled over coffee and toast, too forlorn to even visit the diner before work.

So, it was fitting that on this day, when she was exhausted from the no sleep and trying not to cry, that Murphy should cheerfully dance through her life and screw it up even more. It began when the jeep wouldn't turn over and, as this seemed to be a town-wide curse this most Monday of mornings, she'd waited over an hour for Gypsy to arrive with jumper cables. By the time she dragged her tired ass into The Dragonfly, the new day maid had quit and Michel was only waiting for her arrival to go home to nurse his cold. Which wouldn't have been much of a problem if the cable TV hadn't gone on the fritz in the only three rooms that were occupied. And Sookie hadn't felt compelled to burn the fish at lunch.

And so it went.

"Hello," she answered her cell phone dully, "Lorelai's Stinky House of Fish Hell."

"Fish hell?"

"A big beautiful trout gone. Nothing but charcoal now."

"Okay."

"Luke, she's gone and I'm all alone."

"The trout?"

"Rory!"

"Lorelai, you know you are not alone."

She paused.

"I just feel..."

"I know."

"It just... it feels like here you and I are on the brink... of something, but I'm losing her..."

"You'll never lose her."

"No, I think she's already gone."

"No, she isn't," he insisted gently, "not really."

"She worked on the Kerry campaign all fall and was so busy with school that I didn't get to see her, and now she'll do that internship during Spring break, and then the exchange program in the summer."

"It's a lot, I know. But, you want this for her, Lorelai. You do."

"I know. But, she's my family, Luke. We've always been this little family, she and I, and now... I don't know. Why isn't it possible to have everything at the same time?"

"Because we're not living in a TV show."

"Well, crap."

"No, it's not crap, Lorelai. You know that."

"Gah! I'm too miserable to be comforted right now."

"Yeah and I suck at it, anyway."

"No, you don't. I just feel... alone... I know, I know... I'm not, and I'm sorry, but it's just how I feel right now."

"You miss her."

"I do. I really do."

And what could he say to that? He understood. He really did. He was feeling that way himself, for the first time in a very long time. About her. About Lorelai. So attached that if she left, even for awhile, he'd be devastated. He was slow about some things. But of this, he was certain.

So Luke sighed when he hung up the phone, feeling more than slightly helpless.

For Lorelai's part, the fun only increased when the Purple-faced Guest's pricey watch went missing. The Inn was in an uproar, accusations and tears hurling about, leaving everyone feeling sheepish or abused, accordingly, when said watch turned up later under a sofa cushion in the lounge.

Lorelai now had one of those prodding headaches behind her right eye.

And, at last, when Tobin came in to take over for the night and the fish smell had been chased away by baking cookies and open windows, Lorelai scooped up her briefcase and dragged herself out to the jeep... which.... did start. Thank God. Because drastic things would have happened otherwise. She didn't know what kind of drastic things. Just that they, the things, would have been really... drastic.

Heavy-hearted, she finally switched the ignition off in her driveway and quietly leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She was being silly, she knew. Unreasonable, and illogical even... She sighed. When she looked up again she noticed, for the first time, that the house was alight. Every window glowing into the winter night. Huh. She'd thought Luke was working late tonight. Well, good. She was glad he was home. She tried to shake off her gloom as she got out and sloshed to the front door. She'd try to be good. Not be such a downer. For his sake. And slowly things would get better and she wouldn't miss Rory so much.

When she stepped through the door, delicious dinner smells warmed right through her. She kicked off her boots and shrugged out of her coat before walking into the kitchen. And stopped at what she beheld.

"What's all this?" she asked, stunned.

Luke turned around from the stove and smiled, "Dinner," he said.

"Dinner? For the Kennedys?" she asked in wonder, as she looked at the set table, flowers at its center, six or seven different steaming dishes scattered about."

"For you," he chuckled, "I didn't know what to make you. When I thought about it, it seemed that everything was your favorite. So I made... everything. Just about."

"For me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yep," he nodded and started tossing the salad, "Thought you could use a little pick-me-up... Hey, what's wrong?" he looked up in concern.

For she had burst loudly into tears.

"Shh...." he said, hurrying to her side to put his arms around her, "It's just dinner."

She sobbed noisily into his shirt. The dam, now broken, was going to have to run its course and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

When at last she was boneless and spent against him, he led her wordlessly up the stairs and into the bathroom and began to unbutton her blouse.

"Luke, your dinner..." she protested faintly.

But he ignored her and leaned to light her candle on the tub's edge, turn on the bath tap, and switch off the harsh overhead light.

"It isn't going any where," he answered.

She nodded at him and felt silent tears come now. They rolled slowly down her cheeks as she allowed him to take over. He finished unbuttoning her blouse and cast it aside, then gently unzipped her pants and lowered them, taking the bit of blue lace beneath as well, to the floor, then reached to pull down her socks too.

When he stood again he smiled at her a little, then gently kissed her forehead, before turning her shoulders away from him. Her back to his chest now, she looked up into the mirror and watched his reflection as he focused on un-hooking her bra. Once released from its confines she sighed and let it drop forward and slide down over her arms and off her hands before her. She moaned then and leaned back against him as his hands slid under her breasts. He tenderly stroked, then ever-so-  
gently scratched at the angry red marks left behind by the bra, just as he'd seen her do for herself a thousand times before. Both breathed quietly into this moment, regarding one another in the steamy mirror before them.... Luke roused himself then, knowing that this wasn't the time for his growing need. So he kissed her head and scooped up her hair and handed her the giant clasp she kept next to the sink. He watched her expertly take over to twist and clip the hair up, and then handed her into the warm tub.

"I'll be back in awhile," he assured her, and closed the door softly behind him.

She nodded gratefully, even managing to smile a little before lifting a cloth to scrub her make-up away.

She awoke with a start a couple of hours later and blinked as she looked about the darkened bedroom. She remembered then how he'd come back with warm pajamas fresh from the dryer and helped her into them before she tumbled onto the bed.

She slid groggily out of their bed now and tread down the stairs to the living room where Luke sat flipping through the channels, a small fire crackling at the grate.

"Hey, you're awake," he smiled up at her, "Feel any better?"

"Yes," she nodded, "but..."

"You're hungry?" he asked knowingly.

She nodded.

"Come on then," he said and rose to his own stockinged feet to take her hand and lead her to the kitchen table.

He took various containers from the 'frig then as she watched, and loaded up a plate to heat in the microwave. When it was warm and before her with a cup of coffee next to it, he settled across from her to drink his tea and wonder again over her ability to eat.

When at last she was full, she looked up at him and smiled over her sip of coffee.

"Thank you," she said.

He smiled back knowing she was thanking him for much more than just the food.

"Sure," he said, and then, "Dessert?"

"Can you believe I may actually be too full?"

"But I have something special for you," he frowned.

"Well okay, twist my arm then! What have you got?" she grinned, "Chocolate pie?"

"No," he said, and wordlessly slid a napkin over to her.

She looked down, "Luke, what is this?"

"You know what it is."

She looked up at him, feeling the tell-tale pricking behind her eyes for the thousandth time that day.

"Oh, Luke..." she whispered.

"Don't cry, Lorelai, not again. This is supposed to cheer you up," he panicked a little.

"B-but, Oh my God! I ruined your evening, didn't I? The dinner, the flowers... Of course! Oh, Geez. I am so stupid! You had something wonderful all planned...A special moment..."

"Lorelai..." he tried to interrupt.

"I am so sorry!" she repeated and hopped nervously to her feet. "Look, why don't I give you a do-over?"

"A do-over?"

"Right. A do-over," she repeated, "I'll go upstairs and put on my red dress... or, or something, and come down, and then you can..."

"Lorelai," Luke stood up and walked over to her, "I don't need that. _We _don't need that. Here, open it. This moment is perfect by me. Hell, all my moments with you are perfect."

She took the box from him and looked into his eyes.

"You _did not _just say that," she stared through shining eyes.

"Actually, I did," he told her without hesitation. "Now, open it. I called Rory for the size, so it should fit. You should have seen me trying to sneak into the jewelry store this afternoon. It was a regular stealth operation. Every time I turned around Kirk or Patty or Taylor or someone was there. This town is too frickin' small and..."

And naturally, she had to grab him and kiss him then. Just to shut him up.

"So, it's all right?" he asked when they pulled away to breathe again.

"It's perfect," she whispered.

"And," he cleared his throat, "You'll marry me?"

"Yes."


	9. Simple

Sixty-five percent off! Now that, my friend, bears repeating; Sixty-frickin'-five percent off! What clearer sign does one need of divine intervention than that?

Absolutely none. So the final die was really cast right there in the Barneys Ready to Wear department on the third floor. Beause we all know that it's all about the dress, baby! Or, in this case really, the coat and the skirt. And when she had perfectly beautiful Choo boots (only forty percent off at Bluefly dot com, but so not their fault) with adorable kitten heels at home, all alone, just waiting to be partnered with something this incredibly gorgeous...

Well, was divine intervention mentioned earlier? A match made in heaven? Kismet?

Simply meant to be.

But before this shopping epiphany came the fight. Because we all know life is like that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first Federal Express package (sent overnight) had arrived no later than the Wednesday mid-morning after the Monday night 'Here is your engagement ring, it's Official now' Love Fest. And really, it was Luke's fault because he made Lorelai call and tell her parents the next day, which she didn't want to do. He was insistent, however, that they be above board, and no he-sure-as-hell _wouldn't_ ask for her hand from Richard, something for which she was grateful. She had brought herself to this point in her life, after all. And Luke respected that, which was part of the reason why she loved him. But she still didn't want to tell her parents.

"How can we not tell your parents that we're getting married?" he asked.

"You have the broadest shoulders, I think I've ever seen," she flirted.

"Lorelai, they'll see the ring," he sighed.

"Because it's so enormous, just like..." she cooed.

"Lorelai! This is not going to work."

"It totally would have worked," she insisted.

He glared at her.

"I blame my failure on a wardrobe malfunction," she decided.

"A _wardrobe malfunction_?" How did she always drag him back into her craziness?

"If I were wearing something a little more lacy, something less... well, _denim_, it would have worked. I would have mesmerized you into forgetting the whole idea of calling my parents."

"There is no way in hell you could 'mesmerize' me into not telling your parents we're getting married," he told her.

She just rolled her eyes at this incredibly uninformed opinion. But in the end, of course, called Emily.

And so, on Wednesday, the Federal Express package arrived.

Kirk should have delivered it to the house even though Luke and Lorelai were both at work. The house was the address on the package, after all. But being a good friend, and more than slightly nosey, and despite the address, he took it helpfully to the diner instead and left it with Luke.

"It looked important," he said by way of explanation, which Luke was sure was only meant to irritate him. The box was huge and heavy and in the middle of the counter now, and the lunch rush was starting. So he moved it to the floor where Lane promptly tripped over it before he shoved it into the storage room to get it the-hell-out-of-the-way.

And when he had lugged it home later that night and he and Lorelai had opened it, she looked up at him and said 'I told you so'. Well, she didn't actually say it, because that really wasn't in her nature. She really only looked at him in such way that clearly meant, 'This is what I was trying to tell you...' Lorelai has a very expressive face.

He sighed.

"You're not backing out on me are you?" she asked, only joking in part.

By way of reply, Luke put his hand into Emily's thirty pound treasure trove of pamphlets, brochures, albums, menus, and swatches, and pulled out an especially elaborate paper confection.

"The _Plaza_?" he read, "She wants us to get married at _The Plaza_?"

Lorelai selected another, this a tri-fold brochure, "Ah yes," she nodded, "Here is a photographic selection of marzipan place cards the nuns at this secluded Swiss convent can customize for your wedding. A minimum order of two-hundred is required. At, if the rate of currency exchange is still what it was when Rory and I went, roughly twenty-five dollars a piece.

"Twenty-five dollars for a place card?!"

"Oh but Luke, it's _edible_," Lorelai replied and then frowned, "If anyone could really call marzipan edible."

"Damn."

"Yep."

"I know your parents don't know me very well, but they _do _know you, don't they?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" asked Lorelai as she dug further into the box, "Oh, here are three samples of authentic Chantilly lace, and here's your alternative to The Plaza, honey, it's a yacht. We can sail around The Sound in an antique schooner, and then they will release doves... Oh, and here are orchestra choices—Do you think a thirty-piece dance orchestra is large enough? Oh! Oh, here it is, ladies and gentlemen! A maker of fine Scottish velvet capes—'For both the Bride _and_ Groom for the Winter Wedding of their Dreams'," she read this last with a barely withheld glee.

Luke blanched, "_Capes?_"

Lorelai put her hands on her hips and leveled a look at him, "Capes, Luke," she assured him. "This box represents the millions of decadently over-indulgent ideas my mother has for our wedding. And she is only just getting fired up, my friend."

"Decadently over-indulgent? Isn't that redundant?"

"And repetitive."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Luke, suffice it to say you're in Emily World now," she sighed as if this should explain it all.

And as Thursday turned into Friday morning, and after the many messages left at the house, ("I have a line on Mr. Stephan–_the_ socialite wedding planner!"); At The Inn, ("Gardenias, gardenias, gardenias!–Call me!"); On Lorelai's cell, ("Truffles?"); And even at the diner, ("Luke, I need your measurements right away, I'm faxing Saville Row!"); And the arrival of a second Fed-Exed package containing pictures of the latest Wedgwood, Limoge and Bacarat place-settings, Luke was cursing his formerly earnest desire to be 'up front' with his future in-laws.

"I feel so close to you right now," consoled Lorelai.

And later that evening, as they drove to Hartford....

"But, it's _our _wedding," he insisted.

"Now see, that is what a sane person would think," said Lorelai simply and took a comforting sip from her to-go cup.

"And, you're nearly forty!..." he went on in disbelief.

"Tread lightly _there_, amigo," she warned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Who is to say what can be endured for those we love? What test to prove our devotion? Luke and Lorelai tried to cling to the comfort of their familiar banter, Lorelai especially adept at humor both as a defensive and offensive tactic, but when it came down to the wire, they had to spend the evening with Richard, Emily _and_ Mr. Stephan the socialite wedding planner. Which all might someday evolve into a very funny story, with impressions, but on this Friday evening was far from being so.

They began their ride back to Stars' Hollow in silence. Actually, they usually did that, trying to regain equilibrium after their evening. And poor Luke was still a neophyte in this area. But this evening it was especially hard. Lorelai, exhausted from parrying and volleying and deflecting any number of ridiculous ideas (truckloads of snow on standby in case the weather wasn't suitably picturesque), could only wait for the Luke-rant that was sure to come. He had remained silent through most of the onslaught itself. He had demurred. He had endured and sucked it up, but Lorelai was not naive. She well knew that this was only a reflexive self defense mechanism on his part and that Defcon Rant Four was imminent.

"Lorelai," it began sneakily, "there's only a quarter of a tank of gas left."

"Luke, we're fine. I'll fill it up in the morning."

"You shouldn't let the tank get that low. What if you had to go someplace early? Besides it isn't good for the jeep."

"Noted," she said irritably.

Which all seems innocuous enough, but that's how these things often begin. The fight starts as a little thing. But is really a much bigger thing. In disguise.

And in a moment Volcano Luke was erupting. Ranting. Were the Gilmores out of their ever-loving minds? Where do you even order a truck load of snow?! And there was no fucking way anyone was going to make him eat French food... And so on.

Eventually, when Lorelai could bear the high road no longer, she barked at him. But good. If all this bothered him so much, why didn't he say something to her parents? Why didn't he blow Mr. Stephan out of the water? Why didn't he just say 'No'? ...

Which brought him to the logical conclusion that she must really want this kind of wedding after all. He'd never thought she was the materialistic sort...

Which offended her... causing her to say any number of things out of anger... including something snide about his social skills...

Which pissed him off and got him defensive and spurred a long rant and rail against the privileges of wealth... and what they did to people.

None of it bears repeating or detailing any further, because we all know that it won't be long until it is all over and its substance forgotten, but for now it was far too real and painful...

And wrong. Lorelai knew that Luke had held his tongue in an effort to keep peace, and Luke knew that Lorelai loved hamburgers, wanted Stars' Hollow, and had worked for what she had in life. They both knew all of this and more. Lorelai, that Luke needed his rant. Luke, that Lorelai was caught in familial hell.

And yet, they both went to bed that night in silence and sighs, backs turned to one another with three miles of bed between them.

It wasn't until four forty-five the following morning, still dark outside, that Luke quietly descended the stairs, boots in hand. Fight or no, this is what he did on his early days so as not to wake Lorelai. And this morning, he sighed, he knew all too well that neither had gotten much sleep.

This is what he was thinking this when he broke his big toe.

Like an idiot, he walked into the dark kitchen and stubbed said toe with King Kong velocity right into the larger and heavier of the Fed-Ex boxes they'd left in the middle of the floor. _Shit! _Of course he yelped right away. Manly or not, it fucking hurts to break your big toe.

And in a moment Lorelai was seated next to him on the kitchen floor trying to coax him into letting her put a bag of frozen peas on it.

And later, bleary eyed after returning home from an embarrassing trip to the Emergency room and pharmacy (they'd also had to stop for gas---Luke had the grace to not comment), they sat silently in the living room, Luke's foot elevated over the arm of the sofa. Until finally they looked up at one another and had to admit how sorry and wrong they both were.

They were sheepish and too old for all this and 'let's just put it behind us' and somehow Lorelai ended up kneeling next to the couch with her cheek on his stomach, looking up at him through sleepy moist eyes. And he, feeling the pain killers acutely, simply slid his fingers repeatedly though her silky hair and said,

"Jesus, Lorelai, why don't we just elope?" before he drifted off to sleep.

So Lorelai mulled this all morning and when he woke up and didn't remember having said it (or so claimed), they talked about it. Really talked about it. And liked the idea more and more.

And so the Super Bowl Wedding Weekend Plan was hatched, which meant that Lorelai didn't have much time at all to shop. Because, elopement or not, a girl has to look good when she gets married.

Which brings us right back to Barneys and a certain simple, elegant, and gloriously on-sale ivory cashmere coat and skirt ensemble, which had clearly been blessed by the angels. The tailoring, the fit, the smooth watery hand of the fabric... all this spoke its benediction of their plan...

Now, if she could only have this much luck in menswear... A perfect blue shirt for Luke... and a tie... that was all she needed now... Oh! and rings... they'd have to sneak over and buy rings.... and a new purse, perhaps? Just something to better go with the boots... And... and something lacy for the night _of_, if you know what I mean... that would be all she really needed...

Simple.


	10. Luck

People love weddings.

Lorelai knew this.

But they did it anyway. They eloped. Because this was just for them. For Lorelai and Luke. And she well knew how uncomfortable he would have been parading around at The Plaza in a tail coat. Which Emily surely would have insisted upon, and then cause misery over (one of the many things—the proverbial tip-of-the-iceberg of things) when Lorelai fought her on it. She shuddered just thinking about the enmity that would have arisen.

So not what she wanted her wedding to be about.

So, on a clear and bright winter day in January, they set off together. Through Lorelai's contacts with the State Inn Owner's Association, she had arranged for them to stay at a beautiful Queen Anne on the coast. It would be empty this time of year, and the manager could easily arrange a simple ceremony for them in their parlor overlooking the sea, complete with a bridal bouquet (she chose violets), a few photos to be taken after (discreet digital video as well for an additional fee), followed by a candlelight supper in their suite.

Perfect.

Right?

She had the cashmere suit. She had happy Luke next to her. She'd have a video of the event to toss at the wrathful Emily (Lorelai imagined this like throwing meat to a hungry tiger), before turning and fleeing. Fast.

Perfect.

Right?

She chewed her lip nervously and slyly stole a look at Luke in the driver's seat. He was smiling softly.

"You look like the cat who got all the cream," she quoted Lewis Carroll.

"That's how I feel," he returned amiably.

"What? No smart-ass come back?" she laughed.

"Nope."

"Whipped!" she called out gleefully.

"Ah, Geez," he reddened, "Very nice. And, I am not whipped."

"Ooo! Whipped cream! I'm hungry. Can we stop for lunch?"

"Not yet," said Luke and frowned as he glanced at his watch, "And your free associations scare me sometimes."

"Missing a meeting with your broker?" she asked curiously.

"Did the map say to get off on Lexington?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And then go east?"

"Yes. Oh man, you just passed a taco place. Turn around."

"No. I don't want to be late."

"Late for what? We've still got hours to check in," she frowned.

"I just don't want to get in too late, that's all."

"Luke, it's twelve thirty," said Lorelai, puzzled.

"Crap," he said and stepped on the accelerator more deeply.

Lorelai lifted her brows, "Luke, we're fine, really. Relax. Or are you about to break into 'Get me to the Church on Time'? Because I'd hate to ruin your big number."

Luke exited the highway then without responding.

"Luke, I'm no National Geographer but you just turned west."

"No, I didn't," he assured her.

"Yes, you did," she responded and peered more closely at her map. "You should have turned right at the light instead of left."

"Lorelai, I know what I'm doing."

"Well, clearly you don't. Or will we be in San Francisco before you admit it?"

"We're fine."

"We're not fine. We're going the wrong way, Mister Wrongway Rightaway"

"Who?"

"Seriously, Gilligan, we're supposed to head to the lagoon, which is easterly from here. That's the _opposite_ direction we're going in, by the way."

Luke clenched his jaw and held fast.

"Luke!"

He sighed in relief then and pulled into a parking lot and stopped the jeep. Lorelai looked around.

"We're at a train station," she observed.

"Yes," he looked down at his hands. He was exhausted.. He didn't think this would be so hard.

"Are you hopping a train to escape?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Luke, what—?" she turned her head away from him then... A tapping sound on her window....

"Rory!" she screamed.

"Geez, Lorelai! You scared the hell out of me! Do you think that just once....–?"

But Lorelai was no longer there to hear the rant's end. She was out of the car and smothering Rory to death.

"Mom... can't breath!" Rory choked with a laugh.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They celebrated with tacos.

"Well, we needed a witness," Luke tossed off by way of explaining Rory, and without meeting her eyes, "It's the law."

Lorelai knew better.

And later, when then they stood in the parlor overlooking the sea and said the words of the simple civil ceremony as Rory stood by holding Lorelai's violets (she only had one single fleeting thought of 'Oh-my-God-this-is-for-the-rest-of-my-life!'), and heard Luke speak the words with a sureness that floored her, she recognized the moment for what it was: The beginning and the continuation of her life as it should be. All at once. And it felt good. And safe. And friendly-like. And just what it ought to be and... what she wanted.

And, of course, they'd had a bit of a flap the few minutes before hand (because we all know that life with Lorelai is like that.)

Where were her somethings?

Somethings?

Old, new, borrowed, blue... lucky sixpence in your shoe?

"You don't need any of that stuff," complained Luke, "The minister is downstairs, Lorelai, _waiting_," a slight crack in his voice on his last word, the compulsive re-tying of his tie and subsequent finger tugs at the collar were the only tells of _his_ nervousness.

"Luke!" exclaimed Lorelai, shocked by this statement, "We don't want to have bad luck."

Which is when Rory stepped in to rescue them (God, she was a great kid, thought Luke thankfully), "Here, Mom," she expertly looped her lacy scarf around her mother's neck.

"Ooo... Perfect!"

"And, your eyes are blue," she went on reasonably.

"Right," Lorelai stared at her expectantly, waiting for more.

"And your suit is new," she added calmly.

"Check."

"No sixpence. But I have six pennies," she turned to open her wallet then and Luke watched in amazement as they stuffed them down inside the Choo boots.

"Feels weird," complained Lorelai.

Luke rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration.

"Hey, do you want luck or not? Suck it up, Gilmore," Rory told her.

"But what about the something old?"

"Can't help you there," shrugged Rory, "I'm out."

"_Rory!_"

"What? Do I look like the wedding fairy here?"

"Lorelai!" Luke finally snapped, "The minister isn't going to wait forever!"

"But now we'll only have four fifths of the luck," she said in dismay.

Luke sighed and looked at her, "Is it totally futile for me to explain to you just how crazy that is?"

"Yes."

He sighed again, walked over, put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"Lorelai, we're going to be fine. Great even. This is it, and you look beautiful. And we love each other and want this, and Rory's here, and that's all we need."

She smiled up at him gratefully then, "Well, that and the extra sink in the bathroom... because putting that in has solved ever so many problems in the morning..."

"Lorelai," he interrupted, "Could we _please_ get married now?"

She smiled again, "Okay."

"Good," his turn to smile.

"Is this a good time to re-open negotiations again on getting a coffee maker to put next to the bed at home?" she asked thoughtfully as they walked downstairs, his hand on the small of her back, Rory following.

"No."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And later dressed for bed, after Rory had been returned to train station, they laughed and ate dinner in their suite, and even Luke had indulged in the wee little chocolate wedding cake provided by the Inn, they laughed at themselves and made fun of each other. At his tie (he never got it straight). The pennies in her boot. The fight over which direction to go...

And more tenderly: Her gratitude for his including Rory.

And later still, too much wine delightfully between them, when he came around the table to her chair and knelt before her to kiss warmly down her neck to her stomach and stroke his hands up her thighs and under the lace, so that he might smell and taste and feel her and slide within too, all at once... Well... She was lucky girl, she thought with a sigh as she looked down at him kneeling before her... and ran her fingers through his hair, then throw her head back suddenly... to catch her breath.... and moan...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

But, of course, it was all over too soon and wanting to stay, but having to leave, they quietly drove back to Stars' Hollow. Lorelai sleepily watching the sun catch and glint off of Luke's ring as he drove before drifting off.

"Crap! Crap! Crap!"

Lorelai opened her eyes and blinked, "What?" she asked groggily.

"I am going to fucking kill Taylor this time!"

"_What?!_" demanded Lorelai blearily.

"How they hell did they find out? Rory swore she wouldn't tell."

Lorelai rubbed her eyes and looked up at the diner as he parked.

"Holy Meringue, Batman!" she said with a laugh, "They've even got cupids!"

"I'm going to kill him," repeated Luke with a growl.

Lorelai put a restraining hand down on his forearm, "Oh honey, Taylor couldn't have done all that by himself," she told him.

"But he's the one I'm going to kill."

"No, you're not. You're going to walk in there and be nice to everyone. I don't need to be a prison widow while the ring is still warm on my finger. Besides, it's not every day you get married."

He glared at her.

"Oops! Not what I meant to say. Come on, Luke, be a nice guy. Let it slide for once. They're trying to be nice. They're happy for us."

He sighed and growled again.

Lorelai looked at the diner once again, "Man, they really did go nuts with those paper wedding bells, didn't they?"

So, they got out and went in and smiled and thanked their friends. And Lorelai clapped her hands and stared in wonder at the cake Sookie had made for them.

"I made you a cake too, Lorelai," said Kirk.

Lorelai gasped when she saw it.

"Kirk, how...–?"

"Well, I just ordered twelve dozen Krispy Kremes and stacked them in a big pyramid," he told her proudly, "It seemed to be the most _you_."

"Well, I don't know what to say. Thank you, Kirk," said Lorelai with a grin.

And as Luke watched Lorelai tearfully hug and repeatedly thank their friends, he announced breakfast on the house for all and got to work firing up the coffee maker. (And only grumped a few times when Lorelai insisted on helping; 'Adam and Eve on a raft and wreck 'em!'.)

And later as they stood back and watched Stars' Hollow eat heartily (The free breakfast word got around fast), Lorelai smiled up at Luke with shining eyes, "This, my friend, is the _best _wedding reception ever!"

"Lorelai, they're eating like pigs," he groused.

"Yeah, that's a universal thing, I think," she pondered. "Transcends all classes. Just wait until our next reception, you'll see," she added this last slyly.

He looked down at her, "_Next_ one?"

Maybe not so slyly.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" she asked sweetly.

"I don't want _any_ news," he told her and walked to the storage room

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"The good news," she continued brightly after the well wishers had cleared off, and as if their conversation had not been interrupted at all, "is that, as a special wedding gift to us, Rory has taken it upon herself to make our happy annoucement to my parents. She dealt with the fall-out all by herself last night and then showed them the wedding video too. Isn't that sweet?"

"Uh hunh. Sweet," he said suspiciously, "And I so don't want to hear what you are going to say next," he said and grabbed his rag to start wiping down tables.

She picked up a bussing tray and started filling it with dishes.

"The bad news is that, um... Well, Rory had to buy Emily off with a reception."

"We just had a reception."

"Yes, and it was lovely. But in a couple of weeks, we'll have to go to Emily's too. Rory had to give her carte blanche. It was the only way."

"Carte blanche?" asked Luke, his wiping stilled, "What does that mean?"

Lorelai met his eyes, "You know, I think you would look so sexy in a tail coat."

Luke regarded her a moment, clenching and re-clenching his jaw quietly as he pondered this.

Lorelai watched this nervously. Did she just imagine cartoon-like steam coming from his ears?

Finally he spoke....

"A dark suit. That's it. That's as far as I'm going," he stated unequivocably.

"You, my friend, are a hero among men!" she smiled in relief, "And are gonna get so lucky tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, let's get this place cleaned up before the lunch rush starts."

"I'm talking _very_ lucky here, my friend," she flirted, "I think I may owe you for the rest of our lives."

"Good to know some things never change," he muttered as he grabbed the broom.

"Oh, my God," Lorelai paused in her table clearing, "That's it."

"What's it?" asked Luke as he squatted down with the dustpan.

"My something old."

"What?"

"Us," she replied.

"We're not old," he told her as he swept up crumpled crepe paper.

"No, but our _friendship_ is," she smiled and looked over at the cynical arch now on his brow, "Too hokey?" she asked with a laugh.

"I'm putting all the paper bells in Taylor's dumpster," he said by way of answer, and walked into the back. She listened to him go; "How many trees you think we're chopped down for this crap? I hope he shelled out big for them... himself... Love to see his face this evening when he finds them all in the trash..."

But Lorelai had seen his smile.


End file.
